


"I need a drink"

by RogerStenning



Series: The Roic Files [9]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerStenning/pseuds/RogerStenning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roic's gonna need a beer, and soon...!</p><p>*Set sometime after the events of "Cryoburn"</p><p>**Well, I missed the deadline, but at least I got there ;-) Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	"I need a drink"

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [avanti_90](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avanti_90/pseuds/avanti_90) in the [Bujold_Ficathon_2012](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Bujold_Ficathon_2012) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Crossover: Vorkosigan/Discworld. The library at Vorkosigan House and the library at Unseen University are connected through L-space.

 

# “I Need A Drink!”

 

A Vorkosigan FanFic

By Roger Stenning

Based on the characters, situations, and universes created, set, and owned by  
Lois McMaster Bujold and/or Terry Pratchett. The contents of this story are for  
personal, non-commercial use only. Any use of Lois McMaster Bujolds and/or  
Terry Pratchetts copyrighted materials or trademarks anywhere in this story should  
not be viewed as a challenge to those copyrights or trademarks. This disclaimer  
must remain as an integral part of this file. The material in this story may be  
used/abused by other FanFic authors, provided that credit is given where  
credit is due - "Turnabout is fair play"!

© 2012, Roger Stenning.

 

***

This fic was inspired by avanti_90's 2012 Vorkosigan Saga Ficathon plot bunny  
 _“Crossover: Vorkosigan/Discworld. The library at Vorkosigan House and the library_  
 _at Unseen University are connected through L-space”._

***

Many thanks as usual, to my Beta Reading Team,  
Coalboy, Jekni, Philomytha, and Sharaith,  
without whom, this story would not have proper grammar or spelling  
(or decent wording in places come to that),  
and would probably still be stuck on the keyboard!

***

The usual rules disclaimers threats promises warnings notes  
sub-notes addenda appendices supplementary volumes codicils  
omens of doom portents of gloom whoops wrong script  
ohstuffit on with the story... _Ook_...

***

The new guy, Jenkinski, was on his mid-year weeks leave, and that left a hole in the Vorkosigan House Armsmans’ Roster. Roic, having learned from the best, took the empty slot, just like Pym would have before he retired last year.

Who would have thought it, all those years ago in Hassadar, when he Took Oath as a Municipal Street Guard, that he'd eventually be the Head of Count Vorkosigan's Armsman Score? Not Roic, that was for sure. _Lord, I was damned naive back then_ , he thought to himself, grinning slightly at the memories that drew forth, as he performed his third set of rounds that night.

This time, he did the Library last, as there was a new history of the Hassadar Municipal Guard that had just arrived from the publisher, and he wanted to read it before t'manic little gi- he mentally coughed to himself before continuing the line of thought - Lord Auditor Count Vorkosigan that is, got his blasted mitts on it.

Books had a habit of going, shall we say, ‘walkies’, between his Auditorial Stints, District Duties, and the bouts of inevitable boredom between the former two levels of activity. Some were found again, normally in the most unlikely of places (once, infamously, in an oven in Ma Kosti’s kitchen, to her very shocked outrage: it had ruined a perfectly good almond cake), some in predictable places (first searching point: His Lordship's Office Fresher Closet), and a small number of others just disappeared, never to be found again.

It was odd, though, as the lost volumes were all just boring texts and treatises, such as Vorob'yevs _“Modern Interstellar Politics and Diplomatic Principles”_ , which was so mind-numbingly and depressingly boring, it almost needed biohazard symbols, a bright yellow sticker yelling _“WARNING: SOPORIFIC AGENT!”_ on the cover, and a set of airbags to cushion dropping heads. That said, it probably did everyone a favour, that volume going MIA. Roic shuddered slightly. Even drying paint was more interesting than that damned book.

Glancing at his comm link, to see how much time he had to play with, he made a mental note. 01:20:59. Good, a couple of minutes to find what he was looking for, and then he could grab some lunch...

Entering the library, he closed the new, very heavy, and somewhat soundproofed door behind him, as was his standard practice - libraries had to remain quiet: It was a Universal Truth - and quietly walked over to the ‘New Books Pile’, as he called it, where he felt the new book should be... er... dumped, pending it being filed, in its proper place, on one of the many and myriad shelves in the truly massive library that the Vorkosigans now maintained.

Pausing at the New Books Pile, he looked around. Originally a fairly modest affair by Vor standards, it was now practically cavernous, and smelled of fresh paint and carpeting, following the recent long-overdue remodelling of Vorkosigan House; now, it stood two floors tall (basement and ground), stretching the length of the East Wing. His lordship had personally specified the rebuilding of the Library, stating it as being one of the only places in the house that he could actually get to relax in peace and quiet, so wanted to extend that facility.

It had taken five long years to get there, but once Countess Vorkosigan had nailed him down to some realistic plans (five sub-levels and a secret reading room being a tad unrealistic, it seemed), the remodelling had managed to get underway. Providing adequate security had been a bit of a daunting prospect, but when Roic had realised that ImpSec still considered the pint-sized Imperial Auditor to be ‘One Of Theirs’, he shamelessly put them to work filling the holes in security that the building and construction-work created.

He’d mentioned this in passing to Pym a couple of months back, when they bumped into each other on an Armsman's Families Day at Vorkosigan Surleau. Pym just grinned evilly, and commented, “Makes sense. It’s what I did all the time. _How long_ did it take you to spot this?” Roic could have throttled his father-in-law on the spot, but courageously managed not to (Aurie would have been a bit, shall we say, put out), instead merely curling his lip and delivering The Withering Look (copyright and trademark applied for) at the man, who laughed evilly in reply, pouring Roic another beer.

Something made Roic stop moving in mid-reach for his book choice. Something was _off_. Something wasn’t quite... as it _should_ be... it wasn’t easy to describe how a room should feel to those responsible for guarding them, but this felt... wrong. Something was just, well, _not right_. It was making the hairs on the back of his head stand up straight (well, those that remained after yesterdays ‘right-down-to-the-bone’ haircut that Aurie had given him), and that was always a bad omen. Well, there had been that butter-side-down seal knife incident a number of years back, but it hadn’t been wrongness for that one, merely cack-handedness by a certain short Lord, at the time. This, though, was nothing like that.

This, damn, this was _irritating_. He couldn’t quantify it at all. The very _shape_ of it was, blast it, there was only one word for it: _Wrong_.

His right hand found its way, unbidden, to his stunner holster, and unsnapped the thumb-break catch that held it securely in the holster, his fingers slowly and carefully wrapping themselves around the grip of the stunner. The cold tricarbon fiber grip of the weapon felt somehow comforting, but he kept it in the holster. _“Only draw your weapon where there is a perceived threat to be confronted. Only aim when there is a clear target. Only fire when necessary”_ , went the Armsman's Mantra. He slowly, carefully, looked around, trying to see what was setting his alarm bells jangling so loudly in his head, searching for a target.

Looking down the open lightwell, his eyes picked out a book, lying on its side, on a shelf in a lower level section of the library yet to be stocked. It hadn’t been there two hours ago, when he last checked the room. _This_ was what had set him on edge? It looked as if it was very old, it almost looked as if it had a dust-encrusted vellum-like material covering it. He couldn’t recall ever seeing such a book in the old library, so glancing around briefly, he made for the stairs to the lower level.

His steps muffled by the carpeting that had just been installed, he padded over to the almost empty bookshelf, and regarded the book, which, he could have sworn on a pile of Imperial marks _that high_ , seemed to be staring back at him in, of all things, mirth. He couldn’t rationally explain it, but that’s how it felt to him. A chill went down his spine, and he reached for the book.

“ _STOP_.”

The voice, from right behind him, was full of authority and menace. The word hadn’t been shouted, nor was it stressed. It just was.

The problem here, was that it wasn’t a voice that he recognised. That screamed one massively important thing to Roic: _INTRUDER!_

He didn’t pause, his reflexes were that taught from the tension of the situation - he just spun, drawing his weapon in a fluid motion that was complete by the time he’d finished the 180-degree spin, with his weapon aimed into the throat of the man now to his front.

There was a rather large problem though: the man, who was looking ever so slightly amused, was also holding a weapon to Roics throat. T’only snag was that it wasn’t a stunner. T’was a ruddy great shiny very sharp edged sword that was being held to Roic's throat.

 _Standoff_.

Oh, _crap_.

The intruder was dressed in some kind of old-fashioned cavalry-like uniform, with breastplate (very shiny), helmet (also very shiny, and bearing a multi-coloured feather right out of the top of it, and a rather shiny pair of boots. All in all, he was, well, _shiny_ ) “Nice spin; good reflexes;” His voice dropped a couple of octaves as he completed the sentence “Wrong target.”

 _I’m still alive, so maybe this isn’t quite what it looks like. Then again, maybe he plays with his food. Sod it._ “Who t’hell’re you?” Roic managed to croak. It’s a bit difficult speaking, when a sharp pointy thing is resting - how so ever lightly - against your Adams Apple, after all.

“Doesn’t matter. Concerned citizen, if you must have a description to work with.” The man nodded at the book. “I’d leave that be, were I you. It’s not at all an innocent party. Caused all manner of aggravation, that damned book has. Managed to keep one step ahead for over a month, but we finally tracked it down to here.” He raised his voice to pitch it over Roic's shoulder, apparently so that the book could hear him, “Not so bloody clever now, are you? The Librarian’s not at all happy with you, let me tell you.” Roic actually felt a chill pass over him. _What? That felt like- no, couldn’t be? FEAR? From a book? That’s not bloody possible?!_

The man continued talking to Roic. “I’m really sorry about this. Couldn’t be helped, though. Couldn’t let the damn thing destroy Round World Space and all. Well, best we get this wrapped up.” He called over his shoulder, “Found it. Come and get it, will you?”

It wasn’t a human voice that answered. “Ook.” A section of shelving and wall hinged silently open, and a somewhat brown and extremely hairy and very bloody big ape of some kind loped into the Library, looked about - and suddenly held its massive hands to its head as if in fright. “Eek!”

“Give them a chance, I know it looks empty, but it does look like they only just finished the remodelling of the place. Look, there’s a stack of books ready for shelving, there.”

“Ook?”

“Oh for pity's sake, it’s over there, see?

“Ook.”

Roic couldn’t hold it in. “What the _HELL_ is a _MONFF-!_ ” The man had clasped a leather-gloved hand over Roics mouth.

Quietly, closely, and with some urgency, the man hissed, “Don’t even _think_ about saying that word. Not unless you like being torn into about ten thousand small pieces. He’s very sensitive, OK? We’re not from around here. Libraries, as I’ve come to understand, are all connected, some more than others, through all manner of bloody weird magifizzikal stuff that I haven’t a hope in wossit of understanding. They -” he nodded to the ape - “call it ‘L-Space’. I call it a headache. Either way, it works, and here we are. Deal with it”.

“Eek ook OOK!” The ape wagged a hairy finger at the sword-wielding oddball.

His shoulders sagged a little. “Ohbloodyhell. Do I have to?”

“OOK.”

“Bugger.” The ape dropped his head slightly, raised an eyebrow, and looked pointedly at the man. “Oh, alright, alright.” Clearing his throat with a forced cough, the man addressed Roic directly. “Please allow me to introduce myself. I’m His Grace, His Excellency, the Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes, Commander of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch.” He glanced back at the ape. “There. Happy?”

“Ook.” The ape sounded very satisfied. Then, beating his chest once, he cocked his head at Vimes. “Ook?”

“Ohforcryingoutloud. Right. Fine. Have it your way, then. That, by the way, is the last bloody tea party I’m letting my wife invite you to.”

The ape looked upset at this pronouncement “EEK!”.

Roic was pretty sure by now that he was losing his marbles. Vimes nodded once to himself, and turned back to Roic. “May I present to you the Librarian of the Unseen University of Ankh-Morpork, and Reserve Constable and founder member of the Special Ape Service of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch.” He looked back at Roic. “You are?”

Marbles or no, good manners required an answer. “I’m Armsman Commander Roic, Count Vorkosigan’s Armsman Contingent. And you’re in heaps of trouble. Put the sword down.” His finger tightened on the trigger of his stunner.

“I told you already, I’m not the target you should be worrying about. But, if it makes you feel happy, how about we both lower our weapons?”

“Never happen. You’re the intruder here, not m- _URK!_ ” Roic felt himself being lifted by the neck and right arm, then his world went topsy-turvy as he was spun on three axis, to come face to face and upside down, hanging by his left ankle in front of a jaw full of yellowing teeth of disturbingly poor quality, and halitosis that smelled of rotting bananas. “ _OOOOK!_ ” bellowed the ape.

There was surely only one possible response, and Roic delivered it without further prompting. “AAAAAAARGH!” The Librarian then dropped him to the floor, and squatted in front of him, examined the stunner that he’d caught as Roic fell, and extended his hand, palm flat and upwards, the stunner resting on it, no worse for wear, butt-first towards Roic.

Roic was in no shape to do much of anything except shake his head to clear the dizziness. Vimes took the stunner, replaced it into Roic’s holster, and stood back.

“Got a nice long reach, hasn’t he? Anyway I told you, twice now. We’re not the enemy.” He pointed to the book. “That is.” An air of malevolence seemed to fill the room now, emanating from the book. “ _Shit_. Grab it, for pity’s sake, before it does any more damage!”, he yelled to the Librarian who, moving faster than Roic would have believed possible for such a large creature, produced a cloth sack from lord knew where, and using the material of the sack to avoid touching the book, grabbed it up and wrapped the bag around it, tying off the neck of the sack with surprisingly dexterous fingers, in a simple overhand knot. The feeling of malevolence in the room seemed to turn to anger and frustration at these events, and the Librarian nodded deeply once. “Ook.”

“You said it. Let’s get that damn thing back to where it should be in Special Collections, eh?”

“Eek.” Looking at Vimes, the Librarian nodded to Roic. “Ook.”

“Yeah. Good point. Hold the door at the other end, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Ook.” The Librarian regarded Roic for a moment, waved a hairy hand, and vanished around the edge of the door - shelf - portal - whatever the hell it was he’d come through. Roic, still utterly bewildered, looked back at Vimes, who was sheathing his sword.

“I suppose you want some kind of explanation, correct?”

Roic, still lying in a heap on the floor, trying to make sense of whatever this was, nodded once, mutely, hoping like hell he didn’t look as cross-eyed as he felt.

“Not sure I can make this easy to understand, but here goes. I and my hairy companion come from The Discworld universe. You come from the Roundworld Universe. The only connection between them is via a network of magifizzikal inter-connectable library corridors, of which there are, apparently, bazillions. I’m told that it’s like millions, but with a bloody lot more noughts on the end. My wife tells me that the Dragons built the network way back when, but that causes so many arguments over at U.U., that I’d not bother to try to substantiate that one. So far?”  
  
Roic nodded once, still mute.  
  
“Alright then. The book is a living majikal entity. Only problem is that it’s a very, very, very naughty entity, and does its level best to wreak havoc wherever it goes. It entirely destroyed the Spiralworld universe - bloody weird place, let me tell you - before we got wind of its escape from the Special Collections Wing of the Unseen University Penitentiary Library. That’s where we put all the dangerous books, the ones that have no hope of being Rehabilitated for Public Consumption. The really lethal books, the ones that can destroy worlds, and such like, are held in the Special Collections Vault of the UUPL. Still with me?”  
  
A gut feeling told him to keep from laughing like a madman at all of this. Part of it was that the loon to his front had a bloody great sword, and appeared rather handy with it. The other was that this was sooo damned loopy that it kind of made sense.  
  
Roic was sure he could hear marbles rolling around on a parquet floor, now, and was thrice-be-damned sure that they were his, and finally found his voice. “A prison for books.” Amazingly, his voice was actually steady. And he’d managed to keep it deadpan, somehow, too.  
  
”Dangerous and naughty ones, yes. Anyhow, we’re still trying to figure out how the Never-To-Be-Named-One it escaped, but as it was only held in SCW before it broke out, it’s going to reside in the SCV from now on instead, thus its reading privileges just vanished in smoke, believe you me.”  
  
“You’re telling me that books can read?” _OK, that went up a few octaves, dammit_ , Roic berated himself.  
  
“Of course - we can read them, so it follows that they can read us. Simple. Only in this case, you misunderstood my meaning. We’re denying academics - anyone, in fact - the chance to read the books that are in the vault. It’s an Elf and Safety issue. Been like that since the ‘Pyromanics Adjunct’ roasted the Fizzikal Powders Professor a hundred years back or so. Hell of a mess in the Special Collections Wing. Hell of a stink in the Palace at the time too, and by all accounts. Apparently you couldn’t enter the U.U. without a clothes peg on your schnoz for weeks. Anyhow, that one,” He nodded at the ‘doorway’, “won’t be causing you - or anyone else, come to that - any more trouble.”  
  
“It hadn't- I mean there hasn’t been any trouble here. Not for weeks. And I know for a fact that this level was empty a couple of hours or so ago, as I checked it myself.”  
  
“Hmph. They do say that time flows differently in some of these world places. _He_ -” Vimes nodded his head at the open portal “- says it flies like a banana.” He shrugged, almost apologetically, and continued. “Either way, it’s strange. Guess this place is slower than home - by our reckoning, that bloody book’s been here a week, it’s why we were half expecting this entire place to be ashes - or worse - when we got here. Looks like it was only minutes, subjectively. Glad we were wrong. You should be too. Anyway, just as a heads-up for you, if you find a book with a strange leather binding that’s either too damn hot or freezing cold to the touch, for pity's sake, lock it away, fast, and call me. Just knock on the wall there, ten-nought-nought. Got that?”  
  
“How the hell do I knock a zero?”  
  
“You’ll figure it out. Got to go. Not a word to anyone, got that?”  
  
“They’d never bloody believe me. Probably lock me away ‘for my own protection’.”  
  
“Excellent. Just the ticket, then. No offence, hope we never meet again!”  
  
“Likewise.” echoed Roic, and added under his breath, “Crap, I could use a drink!”  
  
“Ditto. Y’know, there’s a rather good tavern over this si-”  
  
 _“OOK!”_  
  
“Oh _alright_ , don’t get your arm hairs in a bunch, I’m coming!” Vimes waved to Roic, grabbed the edge of the ‘door’, and pulled it closed behind him with a creak of hinges that suddenly seemed to need oiling. It paused momentarily before sealing shut, and Roic heard a muffled “OUCH! Bloody thing caught me sodding finge-” before it shut seamlessly with a muted _CLICK_.  
  
Roic hauled himself upright, and looked slowly around where the ‘door’ had been open. He couldn’t see anything to betray its location. Probably just as well. Shooting his cuff, he checked his comm link. The digits were frozen at 01:20:59. As he looked at it, it suddenly clicked over to 01:21:00.  
  
This was one story he’d _never, not ever, even when pissed_ , tell another living soul.  
  
He climbed the steps to the new books pile, found the book he’d come for, and without even another glance, left the library to go and have his lunch. And try and forget this ever happened.  
  
He never spotted the cat, sitting on the top shelf near the door.  
  
The cat, who’d seen - and heard - everything.  
  
The cat, who was the spitting image of her great-great - well, lots of greats there anyway- grandmother, Zap.  
  
Sharpy (not her cat name, but human kids gave pets such damned odd names, as they couldn’t hope to pronounce it in _Catus Lingua_ ) pondered what she’d just witnessed, and decided it was important enough to warn the rest of her pride, and set up a guard schedule to keep an eye on this vast room of her servants. Padding to the corner of the room, she scratched the skirting board _just_ so and, once the secret door had been opened by a _very_ respectful mouse, quietly walked into the complex of corridors only the cats and mice knew about.  
  
Any sentient book coming here would, in the future, get a bit of a rude awakening. It wasn't just shoes and socks - and the occasional misbehaving mouse - that cats could shred in moments. Malevolent books were just as vulnerable too. Probably more so, as they weren’t likely to expect twenty very pointed, sharp, and very very rapidly moving claws, to suddenly and with lethal purpose, be embedded deep into their spines.  
  
 _If only the humans hadn’t purrsecuted all the Witches,_ Sharpy reflected. _Humanity would’ve been much better off having Majik prrractitionerrrs, instead of all these engineerrring types. Oh well._ She sniffed the air. Hmm. Roic was having rrroast lamb. Time to put in an appurrrance. Flicking her tail to the vertical, she set off on her hunt.  
  
 _Fin_


End file.
